


Offerings

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Seduction, Slow Burn, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Lipton wants Speirs and can see that Speirs wants him too. What's keeping them apart is one officer's duty, but Lipton is prepared to play the long game.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	Offerings

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short PWP, if you can believe it. Well that didn't happen. What happened was that this story and these two with their tension ran away from me, and then I ended up with this fic that I am now presenting to you. 
> 
> I actually like this. I have a lot of feelings about Lipton and the sexual dynamics of these two.
> 
> *
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors' portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series and means no disrespect.

Lipton hadn’t ever felt like this, but immediately knew it was so significant that he had to pursue it. 

When he looked at Speirs it as pure attraction, as blatant as a flame burning his skin with its heat, and when Speirs looked back at him, he saw it reflected back. Lipton couldn’t believe his luck, and at first had written it off as a trick of candle light, but when time went on, he had to start believing into what was right in front of him.

He felt so lucky. Lovestruck and lucky. Speirs kept him close. When Easy moved from the miserable chilly Holland towards the wet but sunny spring in France and Germany, an extraordinary friendship bloomed before any flowers.

He worked just like he had used to, but now with Speirs. Map reading, briefings at the battalion command, inspections and delegating daily tasks and odd jobs. All of it felt lighter in the company of the man he was growing to adore.

Speirs smiled at him a lot. In approval and with pride, and when it was just the two of them with such deep affectionate warmth that one early April evening it got too much. They had just driven to the building they were billeted in and turned off the lights of the jeep, the darkness thick in its suddenness, but Lipton could still sense Speirs there next to him. It was too much, and so he reached to put his hand on his cheek and leaned in to kiss him. 

Even in the dark, Lipton could see his eyes widening, and just in time Speirs jerked back, away from him.

Lipton felt his insides chilling over. “Oh- Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I thought – “ 

“That’s –!” Speirs started, too loud and then paused, cleared his throat and continued in a mutter. “That’s not a good idea, Lieutenant.”

“But…” Lipton hesitated. He was being rejected, but very kindly and not like he thought. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes had gotten somewhat used to the dark, and he saw Speirs smiling with his usual affection but also apologetically. “We have a duty, Lieutenant. We shouldn’t complicate it.”

He said ‘Lieutenant’ in that special tone of his that made the rank sound like an endearment. With the rejection it was driving Lipton mad. “But… I thought you wanted –“ 

“Oh, I do,” Speirs blurted out like he couldn’t hold that in any longer, “I like you very much, which is exactly why we can’t do… this.” He gestured between them like weaving a thread that shouldn’t exist. 

It was a stupid reason – no, it was no reason at all, not in Lipton’s opinion. Still he knew there was no arguing with Speirs when he spoke in a tone like that. 

There was no reason at all, because Lipton came to notice that Speirs didn’t feel just friendly towards him. He had known it, but after the incident he started to see it. Knowing that he had already tried and been rejected made it unbearable, every friendly nudge and bump, every touch on his arm or lower back, every time a chair was pulled up next to him was agony. Knowing they both wanted it but that the closeness that had felt like a strike of luck and full of possibilities was exactly what was keeping them apart felt like a cruel joke.

Still, Lipton could respect Speirs’ wishes. He wanted to do his duty, and Lipton understood the risks very well too. Their friendship was deep, warm and affectionate, and it could be enough. It was enough to glow silently and internally, if that was what Speirs wished. Lipton could respect that. He could make himself believe that it was better this way.

Then Speirs took a 24-hour pass to the nearest liberated city with Shames, Peacock and Welsh. It was a short trip and their absence was barely noticed, but their joy was palpable when they came back in the evening and took their usual places at the officers’ poker table. It was an ordinary late night that they were passing, and Lipton was dealing the cards. 

Nixon was already on his way to blackout drunk and amusing himself with interrogating the returning officers about their leave. “We all know that Harry is already married in spirit if not body,” he said and Welsh laughed, “but please tell me the rest of you don’t have water for blood. Please, let me live through you.”

He was drunker and more often so nowadays, and thus crude from a get-go. But while Peacock tried to pass the question with an awkward cough, the others didn’t mind.

“We made use of the pass alright,” Shames confirmed with obvious suggestion in his voice. “My friend was a pretty doll-faced blonde, curly hair and legs for days. I’ll throw you the garter if you’re desperate enough.”

Nixon hummed and laughed into his glass, his shiny eyes needling the bunch for more details as he knocked back his drink.

“She wasn’t as pretty as Kitty,” Welsh sighed.

“To you, no one is. Now shush, volunteer husband,” Nixon said in passing. “How about you, Sparky? Any pretty red riding hoods for the big bad wolf?”

“None of your business,” Speirs said, his eyes on his cards. There was looted silverware on the table, and it seemed he wanted to win it instead of talking about women. 

“Oh, come on, Ronald!” Shames huffed and nudged his buddy. “We saw!”

“Saw what?” Nixon immediately asked, leaning forward.

Before Speirs had the chance to so much as bare his teeth at him, Shames had hooked his fingers into the collar of his shirt and yanked.

Welsh burst into laughter and even Peacock had to hide a reluctant smile. Nixon let out a low whistle, and Speirs shoved the cackling Shames roughly back to his own seat. He fixed his collar up again, and Lipton suddenly wished that Winters were there to rein Nixon in. 

But Lipton had seen already, and when Speirs glanced at him, he must have understood as much. Lipton had seen the small, purple marks that Speirs had carefully hidden under the collar of his shirt. 

They were silent about the matter until next day’s lunch. As usual, Speirs and Lipton got their food last, then took their canteens inside to the company CP to sit at a real dining table. 

Speirs sat next to Lipton like he always did, but today his silence was heavy and loud.

“Look, Lipton…” he started suddenly, “I’m sorry about last night.”

Lipton kept his eyes in the canteen and stirred the mushy food around. “About what?”

“About the stunt Ed pulled,” Speirs sighed, noticeably awkward about the topic. “I never meant for you to see… Hell, I never meant for Ed to see either!” 

Something slithering and green curled up tightly in Lipton’s chest and forced him to smile. “It’s okay,” he promised. The April weather was still cold but Speirs was warm by his side, and his tone was repenting as if he owed Lipton something. 

“Yeah. It’s just that even though I have needs, it doesn’t mean I want to tease or torment you,” Speirs explained. 

Lipton licked his lips clean and leaned on the table and, incidentally, closer to Speirs. He refused the urge to glance at Speirs’ neck where the lovebites from a stranger were hidden. “I don’t blame you for having needs, Captain,” he said softly, “After all, I’m a man too. I know what a need feels like. I feel it too. So whatever it is that you do to appease this need inside you, well, it’s one of my business.” He spoke slowly and softly, letting each of his words sink in while he leaned his chin on his hand as if none of it mattered, and touched his foot to Speirs’ ankle under the table.

Speirs stared at him in silence for a while, and Lipton returned the look easily, just lazily blinking and giving his friend a small smile. He felt Speirs shifting, but not pulling away.

“I don’t tease you,” Speirs asserted, the stress on every word.

Lipton gave him half a shrug. “I know.”

“So why are y – “ Speirs interrupted his own question like suddenly remembering he wasn’t supposed to ask. He wiped a hand down his face and looked away, but didn’t pull back.

“We have to work together, Lieutenant,” Speirs said kindly, like trying to convince a suffering patient that the procedure they were in for wouldn’t hurt. “I like you. Very much, actually, I do, but we have to keep working.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Lipton said, his head tilting and didn’t offer an argument, just a stroke of his boot against Speirs’ calf. Speirs was still as if frozen.

“So, do we have enough maps for all the drivers or shall we risk losing half the convoy again?” Lipton asked and pulled back to his own side. It took Speirs a couple of seconds to recover enough to return to a proper topic. 

On the other day, Lipton had acquired a lighter. It was a nice lighter, heavy and silvery and engraved in art deco style, and he flicked it open and closed as he waited. Perconte had gotten the lighter for him as he had asked for it, and for that he was grateful. It was good to have drifty friends.

Speaking of, his very best friend was striding along the convoy of vehicles towards the car Lipton was sitting in, and as Speirs approached, Lipton put the lighter away. 

Speirs swung himself up into the driver’s seat of the jeep. “We should be on in a moment as soon as the first battalion gets a flat tire changed.”

“That’s good,” Lipton said and draped his arm on the back of the front seats.

“It’s only an hour long drive to our next destination. Another town we need to clear, then set camp for a few days before getting new orders to move again,” Speirs said and took out of pack of cigarettes. Automatically he offered it to Lipton first, who accepted.

“Good. Boys know our sector already, it’s going to be a simple sweep once we arrive,” Lipton said. “I checked in in with the platoon leaders, and they had all given orders already.”

“Great job,” Speirs said in passing. He was patting and digging through his pockets for a lighter but didn’t seem to have much luck.

Lipton leaned back on his own seat and lit his cigarette, his hand shielding the lighter from the wind. “I’m guessing we’ll be staying inside a building again,” he said and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah, we’ll appropriate some for ourselves,” Speirs replied, now on his second round through his own pockets.

“Here, let me,” Lipton said and leaned over to Speirs, his cigarette held between his lips. It was clear that Speirs has expected a lighter. The cigarette he had already put in his mouth stilled as he froze, but then he relaxed and Lipton dared to move again.

“Do you think we’ll be able to fit the entire company in one building?” Lipton asked as he leaned forward. He smiled, reassuring with his focus on the daily running of the company. 

Speirs looked into his eyes and Lipton knew he was being inspected for something, but he simply looked back, the orange tip of the cigarette glowing in invitation. 

“We have our pickings,” Speirs said, carefully leaning forward, the tip of his cigarette touching Lipton’s. He pursed his lips to keep it still and inhaled. “After the first battalion, of course.” 

The cigarette wouldn’t take, and Lipton leaned closer again. He reached out and put his hand on Speirs’ neck to keep him still, and with the help of his steadying hand and his breath that made the cigarette burn hotter, the second one was lit. He stayed close to make sure, then glanced up to Speirs, who in turn was studying him. 

Lipton smiled around the cigarette. He let his hand slip from the back of Speirs’ neck brushing the short hair there, and leaned back onto his own seat again. He picked the cigarette from his lips and blew a cloud of silver smoke. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a warm place to sleep then,” he said with a smile. “You and I will room together if you don’t mind.”

Speirs cast his eyes down, then turned towards the road and the unmoving convoy of vehicles. His left hand rested on the steering wheel, the right lingering on the cigarette while he savoured the first drag of it. “I don’t mind,” he said. 

Finally, the convoy moved. Speirs started the engine and waited for the vehicle in front of him to move, and the noise of the engine killed their conversation. 

Easy travelled with the rest of the division, and they got to drive on good roads, or what was left of them. They joined a larger marching convoy on the highway that had almost survived the bombings. Occasionally the convoy had to slow down to fight its way across the ruins of a section that had been particularly unlucky, but it didn’t prolong their drive by much.

In the new town, they quickly rolled out and cleared buildings, the front line moving in hard and fast, and Speirs close to the first line of assault. He had ordered Lipton slightly behind to organize the second wave, and after that to have someone to guide their supplies and supporting troops in.

By the evening Lipton was satisfied with Easy’s condition and billets, and he found his way back to Speirs. 

Speirs had set up in an apartment on the second floor of the four the building had in total. He was running the company from the windowless entry hall where a radio had been set up, and he had made his bed in the actual bedroom of the house where the bed had been dragged against the side wall and the window had panels on them. Against the opposite wall there was a spring mattress on the floor with a pile of fresh sheets and pillows on it.

Lipton walked in, took off his helmet and dropped his pack on the floor. Speirs had taken off his jacket and was sitting on the edge of the bed and he looked up when Lipton came in. 

“Report, please,” he said.

“Everything’s fine,” Lipton replied. “The first and the second platoon are staying on the third floor, the third on this one. Everyone’s been fed and they have set up their bedrolls.”

“Good,” Speirs said. He had a newspaper open on his lap and was slowly turning the pages, glancing the articles over but not focusing on anything in particular. 

Lipton took his jacket off as well and loosened the scarf he had wrapped tightly against the wind in the jeep. He dropped the clothes and his gear on his pack, then laid his rifle next to them. He ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it up after having it pressed down by the helmet all day.

“There’s a communal bath in the basement,” Lipton mentioned.

“Uh-huh,” Speirs acknowledged.

Lipton knelt by his pack and started to dig for his personal things. “Care to join me?” 

Speirs stilled with the page in the middle of a turn, and on the edge of his vision Lipton saw him looking up through a fringe of dark hair. 

Lipton looked up and smiled at him. He pushed his suspenders off. “Officers will have a shift of an hour starting at eight, and the enlisted men have the rest of the night. If we want to wash up, we’ll have to stick to the schedule. You coming?” He started to unbutton his shirt, then pulled it over his head and dropped it on the floor. He took a hold of his undershirt and inched that up and off too.

Speirs looked back down at his paper. “I, uh, I might. Later,” he said.

Lipton opened his belt and pulled it out of the loops. “Alright. I’ll go ahead then.” He put a sweater on, picked out a clean undershirt, socks and his towel and then left for the showers.

It was a lovely bath considering it was in a basement and obviously had been used more as a bomb shelter than a bath lately. Preparing it had fallen for Dog company, and they had done a nice job cleaning it up, though they had also taken the first bathing shift there and left a fair amount of muddy tracks behind them.

All the officers used the opportunity to take a shower. Lipton lingered in the changing room, but when about half of the officers had showered, changed and left, he stepped inside. The air was full of swirling steam, and it seemed miraculous that they had so much hot water at their disposal. The tiles were warm under his feet and the army had gotten him used to washing in company, so he didn’t even mind that Winters, Nixon and Welsh were occupying three showerheads next to each other and loudly chatting while tossing a bar of soap between them.

Lipton had brought his own and he didn’t need to join the conversation, so he just picked a showerhead, turned it on and stepped underneath it. 

Hot water hit him and even though he had enjoyed showers a few times in the past month, he always forgot how divine it felt. He took a deep breath as he practically felt dirt and grime washing off of him, and he hadn’t even touched the soap yet.

“ – I swear the water is different, it’s got something to do with the soil here.”

“It’s water, water is the same everywhere!”

“No it’s not! Water tastes different here too!”

“It’s water, Harry! Water doesn’t taste like anything, it’s water!”

“You’ve just ruined your tastebuds. Dick, tell him!” 

“You have ruined your tastebuds, Lew.”

“Hey, don’t turn him against me! He’s – Oh, hi Speirs.” 

Lipton opened his eyes and smiled towards the wall. He was holding his soap bar and foaming it slowly between his hands. He was in no hurry.

“Don’t mix me into anything you’re doing,” Speirs replied to Nixon, and Lipton listened to his voice going by him.

Lipton turned slightly under the spray and rubbed the soap bubbles onto his skin. He felt the foam running down from his neck and shoulders, slipping on his back and chest and down his legs. He rubbed it into his scalp as well, then combed his hair back and off his face. 

Somewhere slightly behind him Speirs was standing under his own shower. Lipton wondered if he had hoped to miss him in the showers or if he didn’t care, but he wasn’t going to turn and look, let alone ask. He enjoyed his shower, letting the dust from the road wash off him and down the drain. Hot water felt good on his clammy skin and stiff muscles after a long day, and even though he had already taken several showers since Bastogne, Lipton felt like he was still kneading open knots and melting away frost from there. 

When he had had enough, he again lingered in the changing room waiting for Speirs. 

Speirs gave him ten minutes and seemed startled to see Lipton still there when he stepped in. Lipton was combing his hair, wearing his trousers and undershirt, and his gaze turned naturally towards Speirs when he entered.

The captain looked no less intimidating without his uniform, a natural soldier down to the bones, but when stepping into the small changing room with only his towel around his hips he looked vulnerable instead of untouchable. 

Lipton met his gaze and smiled warmly. “I decided to wait up since we’re sleeping together,” he said and kept combing his damp hair in place without hurry. “I thought it would be nice to go back up together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Speirs answered and stood in the doorway a moment longer, one hand grasping the knot of his towel. Lipton didn’t look away, and under his gaze Speirs seemed to snap out of whatever had frozen him in the doorway and he strode to his clothing pile. 

Lipton stared at his strong back when he sorted through the pile, looking for his underwear that he pulled on without dropping the towel. He kept pulling clothes back on fast and didn’t slow down until he had his trousers and undershirt back on, same as Lipton. 

Speirs’ hand went to his hair, picking at the wild strands sticking here and there and fluffed up with moisture. He patted his pockets in look for something, and Lipton could guess what.

He stood up from the bench and walked over to the other. His bare feet were so quiet on the floor that when Lipton touched Speirs’ shoulder, he jolted like shocked. 

Speirs’ green eyes turned to him, bright and reserved and tried to stare Lipton back, but Lipton hadn’t ever been affected by his intimidation. He simply let his hand rest on his shoulder, its skin warm from the shower and somehow smoother than he had expected, and smiled.

“Here you go,” he said gently and handed over his comb. “You can borrow mine.” 

Speirs accepted the comb carefully as if it had a pin that kept the situation from exploding into his face. Lipton wondered if he was afraid that their fingers might touch or that he wouldn’t let go of the comb after all, and the suspicion Speirs showed towards such a small gesture made him smile wider. For a moment Lipton let himself look at the flush on Speirs’ face and the tiny droplets of water lingering on his skin, then looked back into his eyes through his lashes. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he said, and finally let his hand slip from Speirs’ shoulder.

When Lipton went back to his bench to put on the rest of his clothes and gather up his things, he thought he heard Speirs release a breath like a sigh of relief. 

Sharing a room was enjoyable, especially after radio silence was declared and it got quiet. It amused Lipton that now that he wasn’t sick Speirs had no problem using his rank to claim the bed, but at the same time he was touched that Speirs had no doubt torn through the apartment for a linen closet to get him something to make his bed with on the floor. The mattress wasn’t bad as Lipton certainly had been through worse, so he made his place there contently. 

They weren’t expecting any action during the night so he elected to strip down again. He set his boots next to the mattress, laid his rifle within arm’s reach and proceeded to strip the extra layers of clothes off.

They were obeying the light discipline, so the apartment was kept dark. The bedroom window was boarded, and the only source of light that Lipton and Speirs kept was a small lantern on the floor. It gave the room a shimmer of deep orange light and cast deep shadows. 

Speirs sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t not-watch Lipton as he stripped. Lipton didn’t look directly at him but simply went on about his business, folding his sweater, then his trousers on top of it, then arranged his gear at the head of the mattress to be easily grabbed even in pitch dark if the need arose. 

It probably wouldn’t, and Lipton let himself enjoy the quiet moment in the swaying light of the lantern. The floor was cold, but when he pulled his feet on the mattress they warmed quickly. The sheets smelled fresh and felt amazing against his skin. He let his hand linger on the white linen he had covered the mattress with and in a half-dreamy wonder let his fingers trace their way along it. 

When he lay down, he didn’t immediately wrap the covers around himslef but let himself enjoy the mattress, the springs that supported his back and how he could stretch into his full height. He stretched his toes towards the foot of the bed and his arms in the opposite direction, pulling himself into a pleasurable arc that made something in his spine pop. 

When he let himself relax again and fall content and pliant in the middle of the sheets, he noticed Speirs still seated on the edge of the bed with his eyes on him. 

Lipton caught his gaze and smiled up to him, head on the pillow and unwilling to move again. He let his fingers curl towards his palm and his eyes blink slowly like at any moment they would grow too heavy to open again. 

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” he asked.

Speirs had his fingers dug into the edge of his mattress. His eyes were sharp and had the fire from the lantern shining in them, but his mouth was in a questioning little o-shape like he had forgotten it like that. When Lipton spoke, he came out of his trance and bit his mouth shut and blinked himself more awake.

“No, I am, just in a moment,” he replied and in the very second started to fight his clothes off. He tossed only his shirt, leaving the white undershirt and didn’t even undo the belt from his trousers, and with that he threw himself on his back and pulled a duvet over himself. “I think I washed some of my brain power down the drain with that shower,” he mused out loud.

“Hot water does that to you,” Lipton answered. “I swear, I’ll probably never get used to nice things again. They all feel so luxurious.”

“Yeah. Hot water is just… Hmm.” It sounded like Speirs had had some half-finished thought that slipped from him when he tried to speak it. Lipton didn’t ask after it, just hummed in agreement. 

Then, after a beat of silence when Lipton thought he had fallen asleep, Speirs spoke again. “You aren’t cold there, are you? On the floor like that?”

Lipton curled up under his covers. “I’m not on the floor, I’m on a mattress.”

“You know what I mean. It isn’t chilly there, is it?”

Lipton smiled into his pillow. When he glanced up he couldn’t see Speirs as he was lying in the middle of the bed, but he imagined his gaze flicking and restless fingers twisting into his duvet. He remembered how it had felt back in Haguenau to take up a bed and leave your friend on the floor, but no matter which was his part, he missed Speirs just the same. 

But it wasn’t proper to offer or ask. He had been rejected after all. Duty and all that. “I’m alright,” he said. “The covers are warm and the mattress is thick. I’ve slept on the ground, so this already is more than I could have asked for.”

“Oh,” Speirs replied and was quiet again. “That’s good. Good night, Lipton.”

“Good night, sir,” Lipton wished back, sealing the conversation and getting away with the title, even had a pillow to hide his smile into.

Occupation was a dull thing but no less work than combat. Lipton had gotten used to the stress of running a combat unit, at least as well as one could get used to something like that, and these new sources for his stress threw him off. 

Boredom did awful things to a good, proper soldier, and he felt like a dean at a rough boarding school when he ushered his drunken soldiers here and there and tried to keep them from getting shot, shooting themselves or being run over by traffic. He even found himself dragging them practically by ear off the local women, something he properly chewed the guys out for. 

There just wasn’t that much to do. Loading trucks and guarding roads and roadblocks and the radio and the buildings was dull in everyone’s opinion, and it was difficult. Still, he kept himself from wishing something would happen.

Officers did more and more paper pushing than anything else, and May started as a windy, merciless spring month that just wouldn’t warm up. It seemed that whenever they stayed anywhere, the command would set up a proper office with their phones and typewriters and the works, and that was where Lipton found Speirs more often than not. 

Speirs was a fast typist, but the amount of reports that needed to be done was overwhelming even him. He was wound up in the office more than Lipton had ever seen on the field and seemed to relax only when he got out for a bit. They started eating their meals outside on Lipton’s suggestion, and Speirs seemed to be breathing a little easier like that. 

Lipton had to look for him more nowadays. It was spoiling his fun a little, and the mean edge had been taken off of him weeks ago by Speirs’ smiles and the soft tone of his voice that washed over him in waves and smoothed him like a river stone. 

It was still a joy to see Speirs perking up and his frown dissolving when he saw Lipton, but Lipton had to also wonder which one of them was aching more. He certainly was, and all he could do most of the time was throb with the ache and let it bloom open, petals flourishing and leaving him out in the open like a flower to be plucked. 

One late evening that had turned into night already Lipton went to look for Speirs. He had tried their room at first but found it empty, and thus made a circle through the small kitchen of the school building the entire battalion had set camp at and went to the offices. 

He had been right and knew it as soon as he approached the CO’s office and saw a sharp line of light at the bottom of the door. He knocked twice and pushed the door open, and there sat Speirs, at the desk behind his typewriter, a pile of paper on both sides of him. 

His eyes were tired when he looked up, his face waxy and pale in the light of a single lightbulb on the desk. “Ah, Lieutenant,” he sighed in that endearment tone of his, “you should be getting some rest.”

“So should you, Captain,” Lipton countered easily and closed the door behind him. He used both of his hands to cover the precious mug, steaming hot and filled with something that was hard to come by, and carried it over to Speirs’ desk.

“I was trying to sleep actually, but when I couldn’t find you, I came looking,” Lipton explained. He left the mug and stepped aside, the tips of his fingers tracing the desktop. “I knew I’d find you here, and also that I can’t talk you out of this. But I could bring you something to warm you.”

Speirs’ hands slipped from the typewriter as he leaned over to look into the mug although he must have smelled the rich scent of chocolate melted into hot milk with sugar. “For me?” he asked quietly.

“Uh-huh,” Lipton said, slowly stepping around Speirs’ chair and stopping behind him. He got there only because Speirs had leaned over to look into the mug, and now that he was there, Speirs didn’t seem to be able to let himself turn around to look. His head tilted just slightly, and Lipton saw a hint of his dark lashes and the edge of his cheekbone, but he turned back forwards almost immediately like deciding to pretend that Lipton wasn’t there.

“Thank you,” Speirs said curtly. 

“Of course,” Lipton said. “You work too much and too late. It’s not good for you. Someone should look out for you.”

“It’s good that I have you then, huh?” Speirs said back.

Lipton huffed a small laugh. “You can have me alright.”

Speirs cleared his throat and pointedly set his fingers back on the keys. He struck in a few words, but not at his usual pace.

“You should take better care of yourself,” Lipton said, almost scolded as only he could do to Captain Speirs, and gently laid his hands on his shoulders. He felt Speirs tensing under his touch.

“I do my best,” Speirs answered, his voice smooth and still like the surface of a pond on a windless day. One gust away from rippling. 

Slowly Lipton let his hold become a squeeze. The cotton of Speirs’ shirt was thick and coarse, but Lipton’s palms had hardened with all the blood work he had carried out and cut by the raisers, and underneath he could feel the heat of skin and muscle. 

When he really dug his finger in, Speirs let out a breath of a grunt. His shoulders were stiff and hard, the muscles defined but like stuck on each other, and like a cat on a pillow Lipton let his fingers flex and then knead into it again. 

Speirs took in a deep breath. His hands were still resting on the keys of the typewriter but he was no longer even pretending to write, he just breathed slow and deep in the rhythm that Lipton’s hands set. Neither one spoke, just breathed occasionally sighing. 

Lipton kneaded Speirs’ stiff muscles, moving slightly between the shoulder and the neck. When the side of his palm touched the bare skin on Speirs’ neck and his fingers sunk into the tender flesh there, Speirs’ shoulders jumped suddenly. He let out a groan and his head lolled back, and Lipton could see that his eyes were closed.

He stared down at Speirs’ face and dug the tips of his fingers between his neck and collarbones. There was a crease between Speirs’ brows and he was softly chewing on his lower lip, the tender flesh turned plump and red. It was hard to tell if he was in pain or enjoying it or both, but when he watched his closed eyelids, his working mouth and the way his clean black hair flowed over his forehead when he tipped his head back, Lipton wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss him.

That was the root of the ache. He had been so certain that he was in for a kiss, and then Speirs had dodged him, turning away. Now he was relaxed, his throat exposed to him and his eyes closed. He wouldn’t get away from him now.

As Lipton moved his hands from his shoulders upwards on his neck, he also remembered those little bruises that someone else had put there. Speirs had more than turned away from him, he had gone to someone else. 

Lipton leaned down. Not much, just enough that he was leaning over Speirs, who was lounging in his chair as if in a trance. He wanted. He wanted it so much, the desire was squirming inside his chest like a living thing and he wanted to let it out and feed sweetness of love to it.

He didn’t know what it was that broke the trance, but before Lipton could give into the thing tempting him, Speirs took one sudden breath and sat up straight. It must have been only a little thing, perhaps Lipton’s breath on his forehead disturbing the strands of his hair, but whatever it had been, Speirs was awake and alert again. 

He shot up from his chair and it stayed between him and Lipton. Speirs kept his back turned to him when he smoothed his shirt over, fixed the collar and loudly cleared his throat.

“I think I’m done for the day,” he announced in a steely, too loud voice. “I’m keeping you up, and you need the rest as much as I do.”

“Speirs…”

“I apologize,” Speirs interrupted harshly, and Lipton knew not to argue. “Come. Let’s go. You need sleep, and so do I.”

He didn’t wait up but strode out of the office, but just before that he had the mind to take the mug with him. About that at least Lipton was happy and followed the captain without one more word.

Sometimes Lipton wondered if he had always had such an emptiness inside him or did the war carve it there. Maybe he had always carried it there and just hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps school and sports and milkshakes and dating good, fun girls had kept it hidden like a crack under wallpaper, but now the dark times had peeled it off and Lipton was left with this… Feeling.

Perhaps it was a foolish, romantic thought too, to think that all the horror and evil he had seen and done had dug up some sort of a fountain inside him, like he had been cracked open and spring water had bubbled up to fill the emptiness. But foolish or not, there it was, and that was what his feelings for Speirs felt like. The longer he stood by his side, the longer they fought and further into the enemy territory they advanced, the more that crack inside him seemed to spread, it split deeper and more and more of that crystal clear, pure feeling kept bubbling up.

What he had felt back on that first night when he had tried to kiss Speirs was nothing more than morning dew compared to the flood he was now drowning in. 

By the time they were ordered to Austria, Lipton had to admit that it had been only a silly little crush, admiration wrapped in infatuation. Just a seed, and what it was now was in bloom as magnificently as the nature around them when June caught them in its arms. 

Being in love with someone who refused him had stopped being fun some time ago as well. 

The officers set up in the hotel Kaprun. It was one of the most magnificent things Lipton had ever seen, its every beam and railing and doorway a work of art, and that was just the building without even mentioning the gorgeous town or the mountains like whale teeth around them or the clear lake in the middle of it all like a piece of sky. 

But with their advancing finally stilled and a more permanent camp set up, Lipton started to dread his transfer. He knew it was coming, had known it from the beginning, but while he had been happy about how slowly army did these things, he had also had time to grow very fond of his current place.

Speirs was organizing patrols and passing down orders to keep guard, but that was not all. Major Winters wanted as many of his men as possible to get home, and so Speirs was doing his bidding and writing letter after letter and application after application to whomever, trying to get the Toccoa men and the Normandy veterans out before they’d get new orders.

It was a beautiful summer day outside when Lipton once again walked into Speirs’ office after only a faint knock. Speirs looked up from behind his typewriter and when he saw who was coming in, his hands slowed down just slightly and he smiled. 

Lipton smiled back and closed the door behind him. “I made coffee and thought you’d like some,” he said and lifted the cup and a saucer he was carrying. 

“Thank you,” Speirs said with a nod. 

Lipton walked over, put the saucer with its cup down on the desk near Speirs, then pulled up a chair.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m not much of company right now,” Speirs said, already back to typing whatever it was he had in the works.

“I know. I’m staying anyway,” Lipton said and sat with his back against the desk and stretched his legs out before him. Speirs didn’t reply and he didn’t expect him to, simply relaxed into his company. 

He didn’t need words, he had the window behind Speirs. It was a bright summer day and it was getting truly hot outside. He could barely stand wearing a whole uniform when he went out, and today he had made his existence bearable by opening a few buttons of his shirt. His undershirt was probably drenched with sweat but at least he was getting some air.

He leaned his elbows on the edge of the desk and leaned back. He let his head tilt back and he looked up to the clear sky visible behind the window. It was unreal how it could be that beautiful out in the world. The sun shone high and bright, and Lipton longed to take a stroll down to the lake and shed the rest of the unnecessary clothing. 

He didn’t realize it had fallen silent in the room. He let his head loll towards Speirs to see if he had finished the thing he was writing, and found himself face to face with the Captain.

His eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth for a question that he couldn’t think of. Speirs was wearing a strange expression he hadn’t seen before and his hands were still. At first glance Speirs might have seemed angry, but he never did to Lipton. His brows were low and his sharp gaze piercing under their dark lines, his stare was solid and unblinking, and his mouth was showing just a sliver of teeth and the tip of his tongue running over their edges, all of it on the hard angles of his face giving him a startling look.

But Lipton liked his mouth and the tip of his tongue, and he decided to answer the question he must have been thinking. “It’s such a beautiful day outside. It’s worth admiring.”

Speirs quirked his brows. “It is. You should be enjoying it.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Lipton replied.

Speirs didn’t seem to buy it. He huffed and shook his head slowly in disbelief, maybe as much at Lipton’s behaviour as at his words. “Trapped inside a dusty office? I doubt it.” 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Lipton suggested.

Speirs swallowed. Lipton watched his Adam’s apple bobbing, then lifted his gaze back to Speirs’ eyes and saw a clear answer there. 

“No,” Speirs lied, and with a considerable act of discipline turned back to the typewriter. “You should go.” 

It was clearly an order, but Lipton lingered for a moment longer anyway. He sighed and pressed his leg against Speirs’ for a moment before getting up and walking away.

The summer day was sweet and hot, but the night fell fast. Still the summer heat lingered and refused to lift, something heavy packed in the air promising all sort of things to come.

It was too much. Too much of the day lingered inside the hotel and too much time seemed to stand still at the same time. Lipton didn’t know if it was some sort of madness that took a hold of him, but he decided to blame the summer heat and the darkness of the night.

It was dark and quiet inside the hotel when he made his way upstairs.

He knew Speirs’ room very well, a big three-room suite he had hogged for himself and no one dared to contest. He found the door easily, knocked twice and let himself in.

The tall but narrow white door clicked shut behind him, and it was like a sign from above that Speirs was there. 

It was a grand room with its floors covered in soft carpet and tasteful dark-wood furniture, heavy green silk curtains hanging by the tall windows with delicate little squares, and in the middle of it was Speirs, clearly on his way to the window for a smoke, a jacket on his shoulders and a cigarette between his lips. When Lipton shut the door behind him, he froze mid step.

Lipton met his gaze steadily, smiled, and reached behind him to lock the door. Speirs watched him do it all and said nothing, and when he was done Lipton walked over to him. 

Heat of the day was still lingering, and Lipton had given up with the jacket. His button-down’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the two top buttons were open, and it was light enough to allow him to breathe freely. 

Speirs watched him approach like something inevitable and didn’t even ask why he was there. Lipton supposed he didn’t need to.

“Care to join me for a smoke?” Speirs offered as soon as Lipton was in front of him, his words slightly muffled with the cigarette already between his lips.

“Sure,” Lipton agreed with a smile, and Speirs continued on his way to the open window.

There was a soft breeze outside and it slipped inside from the cracked window, waving the silk curtains and their golden strings. The scent of the night was fresh and wild, and the noise from the town below didn’t reach the high window. 

Speirs didn’t say anything, but the cigarette bounced between his lips as if he was chewing on it when he picked a silver cigarette case from his trouser pocket and offered it to Lipton. It was a new possession and briefly Lipton wondered who it had belonged to before it had ended in Speirs’ fingers, but the question was uninteresting enough to slip from his mind.

He had his own cigarette in his fingers still when Speirs put the case away and started to look for a lighter. Quickly Lipton put his cigarette between his lips and raced to dig through his pockets.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, making Speirs interrupt his task and look up to him. 

Lipton took out the nice lighter from his pocket and leaned in to give Speirs light. He saw how Speirs’ eyes lingered on the insides of his wrists when he offered them towards him, so close to his face that on reflex he gave him lips a quick lick. How quickly his eyes moved too, flicking from the creamy pale skin of the inner side to the knobs of bone to the blue veins faintly visible through the skin. 

Lipton smiled when offering his hands like that. He had even taken off his watch, and now he flicked the lighter open and clicked it alive. He leaned even closer to make the flame touch the cigarette, and Speirs leaned forward too. 

Speirs set his hand to steady Lipton’s, his fingers curling around his wrist with their tips coming to rest on the soft inside, one just on top of the slim bone. He kept his eyes cast down when he inhaled and made the tip of the cigarette glow, puffed a swirl of smoke from the corner of his mouth, and then his green eyes blinked and focused up into Lipton’s brown ones.

“I believe that’s my lighter,” he said. 

“Oh, is it?” Lipton asked, innocent and uncaring. He flicked the lighter shut and put it back into his pocket. “I got it from one of the guys. It was a gift. He thought I’d like it.” 

Speirs quirked a smile and breathed a short laugh, like he couldn’t believe it but was still in on the joke. Then he nonchalantly stumped his freshly lit cigarette on the side of the window and tossed it out. Lipton watched him do it, then kept watching when he reached for the cigarette between his lips he had forgotten to light, plucked it out of threw aside.

“Not feeling like smoking after all?” Lipton asked.

“Not even a little,” Speirs said, and with both his hands free reached to grip Lipton by the front of his shirt and his hair, his grip at first gentle but becoming tighter by every second, and then the rest of the man surged in, knocking Lipton back against a small table with a flower vase on it. 

Distantly Lipton heard the table rattling and the vase falling onto the carpet with a heavy thud, but he paid it no mind as Speirs was finally there against him and his grip kept him still like a hare in an eagle’s talons.

Speirs knocked against him, his mouth open. He took in a loud inhale through his nose when their mouths mashed together and breathed it out, sounding incredibly relieved. His fingers flexed and gripped tightly again, the right hand trying its hardest to tangle into Lipton’s short hair, and his mouth greedily drank in kiss after kiss.

Lipton let out a muffled noise into it and parted his lips. He let go of the small table he hadn’t realized he had gripped and rested his palms on Ron’s shoulders and arms instead, smoothing his hands up and down and coaxing the man closer.

Speirs surged up against him, his grip tight and his mouth sloppy, and uncoordinated kisses kept on coming with no end in sight. Lipton moved his lips gently against the onslaught of desire and moaned softly. Speirs’ mouth was so soft, his cleanshaven face smooth to touch, and he was panting already in hot puffs of air between each and every kiss. His fingers flexed and dug in again, he was almost kneading Lipton’s chest through his shirt, and the other hand came to cup his jaw and angled his head better so that he could be kissed deeper.

Lipton moved like Speirs guided him and received all of him with an aching moan. He opened his lips to breath, and for a moment Speirs slipped his tongue inside his mouth like he just couldn’t be satisfied with simple, ordinary kisses anymore.

Something dark purred in Lipton’s chest in satisfaction. Speirs had starved himself, so he had no blame in this. 

Speirs breathed deeply like trying to get himself under control. His sweaty palm pet down Lipton’s cheek and he pulled back an inch to gather himself. “This is… Oh, no, this is trouble… You know it is, you know. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I want you,” came the easy answer in a heated whisper that tickled against Speirs’ lips. Lipton couldn’t resist it, he simply had to rush in and taste him again, even between words. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since… Since… Rachamps, I think? And you… You want me too, I see it, you do, please say you do.”

Speirs’s face scrunched in pain and he nuzzled against Lipton’s forehead, his hand slipping to tangle into his hair on the back of his head as if Lipton could bear to lean away from him. “Of course I do, how could you doubt that? I told you how I feel about you, how much I –”

“Because you went to someone else,” Lipton blurted out and couldn’t keep the accusation out of his tone, the bitterness like poison that kept the wound from healing. “You took someone else.” 

Speirs gave a groan, a breathless little noise and crowded tighter into Lipton’s space. The table gave out, and with an impatient grunt he pushed Lipton up against the wall instead and pressed up against him, hands slipping to his chest and twisting into the fabric of his half open shirt. 

Lipton’s breath escaped him for a moment and he grasped Speirs by the shoulders. “ _I_ want you, I’m not giving you to anyone else, not to some… some stranger who doesn’t even know you when _I’m_ here and _I_ could be everything.”

“You are,” Speirs insisted and pressed his face against Lipton’s neck, his parted lips pressing sloppy kisses there, as much tasting as they were caressing him. “You are everything.” 

“Yeah?” Lipton asked, head lolling back as his neck was caressed, each gentle lick and nibble from the other’s mouth sending a jolt of heat down his spine.

“How could you not be, coming in here, looking like that?” Speirs said, his voice growing hoarse as his hands slipped lower again, his fingers fondling the buttons of the shirt, so slow it was almost a threat – a promise. 

Lipton huffed a laugh towards the high ceiling, then hummed in delight. “Like what?” 

Speirs didn’t answer, just hissed through his teeth and started to tear the rest of the buttons open. He knew that Lipton knew, he knew the bare arms and peeking collarbones were no accident, but they were there for _him_ , and he was ready to claim his prize. 

It was easy to shake the shirt off, but the undershirt Speirs simply grabbed and then yanked, pulling Lipton to him, spinning him around and bending him back on the floor in one, strong motion without letting go of him for a moment.

Lipton felt dizzy when he found himself on his back on the floor, and Speirs descended on him before he was prepared, jumping in thrilling surprise. 

It seemed that the past months had left Speirs thirsty, absolutely parched, but Lipton had found a fountain in himself and an empty space that one man had taken over, and he was more than happy to pull him under now. 

That’s what it felt like, diving in too deep and head-first, when Speirs let his hands run all over his body, pushing offensive fabric out of the way and his mouth following their trail. Lipton pressed his lips together, writhed on the floor and keened deep in his throat. Everything he had offered seemed to be to Speirs’ liking as he wanted to feel and taste it all, and all the while he was groaning and sighing as if entranced by something beautiful.

“Oh you are lovely,” Speirs whispered against his collarbones, his tongue slipping into the small dip between them, “so, so lovely.” 

“Uh-huh,” was all Lipton had to say to that, his face flushing at the words as much as at the wet caress of the mouth mapping his body. It felt like Speirs wanted truly everything, his kisses bordering more on soft biting now as he inspected his chest, his tongue experimentally lapping here and there, and his fingers running down his sides, counting his ribs and following the curve of his waist. Finally his hand reached all the way down between his legs, ran up and down his thigh a few times before cupping him where he was hard.

Lipton bucked and cried out. 

“There you are,” Speirs mused with a grin, his hand rubbing him through the trousers in slow, heavy strokes. For a moment he lifted his head, his dark hair a mess and his grinning lips red and shiny with spit, and that moment was enough to make desire stab Lipton deep, and then he bent down again. 

Lipton pushed his fingers into Speirs’ hair when he trailed his way down his chest and then his stomach. There wasn’t a clear path, just aimless caressing that left him hot and tingling in its wake. The only thing that stayed steadily on one target was the hand between his legs.

Speirs made quick work of the buttons of his fly and peeled the fabric away almost lovingly. It was like he was opening a present, and that was a bit what Lipton felt like, laid out on the floor after having offered himself up so boldly. 

He watched Speirs licking his lips and shivered under his warm hands, then choked back a whine when they pushed into his trousers and palmed his thighs. 

“Here then,” Speirs said, his voice low and raspy and wickedly satisfied. Lipton stared up at him and saw his smile as well as his eyes, sparkling and crinkled at the corners in delight. His fingers fanned out and drew swirling patterns onto the soft, sensitive skin of Lipton’s inner thighs, and he moaned, shivered and blushed deeper while the sharp, eager smile on Speirs grew.

“Oh, definitely here,” he whispered. Right then he seemed to decide he wanted Lipton fully naked, as he pulled him to sit up to take the undershirt off, then pushed him back down to get rid of his trousers, and all through it Lipton complied patiently, the feeling of Speirs’ efficient hands undressing him with urgency warming him up inside.

The carpet was soft even against his bare back. It felt decadent to lie there naked on the floor in what felt like fine fur and be desired by a man who had finally reached his limit. The wind of summer night blew into the room and made the curtains dance, reminding them that time didn’t stand still even though it felt like it.

Speirs just looked at Lipton for a while, quietly leaning over him and drinking in the sight of him, yearning, avid and unrestrained at last. He seemed tense, wound up once again and like he didn’t quite know what to do now that he had what he wanted, and Lipton stared up at him. He smiled. Speirs’ eyes grew heavy-lidded at the sight. 

“Come on,” Lipton tried to tease, but his voice was quiet and impatient. 

Still, it urged Speirs to move. Slowly he knelt up and settled comfortably between Lipton’s legs, his palms steady and warm on his knees as he pushed them apart. He settled down with the strangest, keen look in his eyes, his red mouth slightly open and still hungry. 

Lipton shivered when Speirs’ hands smoothed their way from his knees to his thighs and all the way to his hips and couldn’t hold in a whine when he felt his hot breath on his skin. He shook both with sensation and anticipation, and hummed with a keen voice in the back of his throat when Speirs confident hand closed around his shaft. He cried out when his mouth followed. 

First Lipton bowed off the floor, then slumped back down and tried to twist perhaps out of the incredible, hot, wet caress that had suddenly surrounded him, but Speirs’ hands kept him steady and still, holding him down when he sucked his cock between his lips, slowly sinking down on him.

“Oh, _God_ , yes…” Lipton panted, short of breath and his legs scrambling for support, reflexively trying to buck up but found that he couldn’t. 

Speirs hummed in obvious delight and pleasure both at what he was doing and how he got to hold his lover, his hands gripping muscle and bone and pinning him down. Lipton cried out again, helpless and overwhelmed, one hand arching over his head and clawing at the carpet in search of something to hold on to, the other shooting down to gently pet his lover’s hair, smoothing the soft strands from his face and caressing him in awe and affection. 

Speirs didn’t seem to want to stop, not for a while, and Lipton had to lie there and accept the impossibly intimate caress of his mouth, his strong, nimble tongue and the soft, wet inside of his cheeks, the gentle and powerful suckling and the pinning hold of his hands. It was heaven, pure heaven, and it had been teased for too long, for weeks, for months, and it was too good to last long. 

Neither had the patience for teasing anymore, it was all reckless indulging, and Lipton didn’t mind. Not when the flood inside him felt like it was steaming, like it had an impossible pressure to it and it was squeezing down on something that had dived too deep, and how Speirs seemed determined to drink all of him down. 

Lipton knew he wasn’t allowed to pump up into Speirs’ mouth, but instinct ordered his hips to move and so he squirmed, just a little bit, needy and desperate, and Speirs judged him tame enough to not hold him down with such force. Lipton had to look down to make sure it was real, the wet caress, so soft and so powerful at the same time, and what he saw was Speirs’ beautiful, familiar dark head moving up and down like it was easy, like he loved it. 

All it took was one of those wondering hands no longer gripping him tracing its way down to his thigh and slipping onto the inner side, the curious, petting fingers finding there the softest skin without even a trace of hair, and when Speirs bobbed his head down and stroked his fingers along Lipton’s thigh, he was coming. He came suddenly with a rush that mounted to completion so fast that it knocked the wind out of him, he choked out a shocked moan and then could only gasp and gasp as the flood finally rushed out of him, leaving him feeling like an exhausted swimmer finally on land. He lay there weak, trembling and panting for air. 

Speirs was there still, a creature who against all logic had followed him up from the depths. He swallowed and knelt up again, and Lipton watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“What I sight you are now,” Speirs cooed in a low voice. “I wish I could take a picture.” 

“Seems like you have to just come back to take another look,” Lipton replied, exhausted and giddy. He brought the hand that had been gripping the carpet up and made grabby hands at Speirs. “Come on, I want you too.”

“Yes, sweet thing, yes,” Speirs agreed, his voice turning suddenly urgent and heated. He took Lipton’s hand and pulled him up directly into his arms. He rolled back and took Lipton with him. 

Lipton peeled him out of his clothes, undoing buttons and pulling at fabric and smoothing his hands over everything he found. He remembered how he had denied himself a look in the showers, and now here was his reward, not only seeing but feeling Speirs for the first time. He was lean and strong, beautiful and rough and so wonderfully receptive to his touch, mouthing kisses into Lipton’s hair when he was caressed and parting his legs without needing to be prompted, inviting him in. 

Lipton felt drunk and near delirious with his release still and couldn’t gather anything more than an instinct to act on, so he simply pressed against Speirs, wrapped around him and caressed him all over and shamelessly. He ran his hands all over the slopes and curves of his muscles, adored every scar he found and ran his fingers lovingly through body hair. He pressed his cheek on his shoulder and kissed his neck, inhaled his scent and groaned when Speirs wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him against his body.

Lipton pressed closer and revelled in pleasuring Speirs. He kissed and licked his neck, then offered the throbbing need between his legs the press of his thigh, then his more adept hand. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, but touching Speirs so intimately, holding and making him tremble and moan with just his hand, to have him thrust into his hold, that was good. Lipton melted into his embrace and let him guide him in pleasuring him. Speirs held him, held on to him, and Lipton kept lazily kissing his neck, the underside of his jaw, the shell of his ear and then his neck again while bringing him off against him with his hand. When he felt Speirs jolting and then the splatter of come on his hip, he moaned with satisfaction and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

They wouldn’t untangle from each other even when it was over. They stayed there even when the breeze from the open window was starting to turn cold. Speirs wouldn’t let go of Lipton, and he wasn’t going anywhere either.

“Eventually we need to get up from the floor,” Speirs noted.

Lipton smiled and snuggled closer in his arms. “Maybe so, but I’m not getting dressed before I’ve washed up.”

“A bath then, perhaps? This suite has a bathroom, you know?” Speirs replied with a relaxed smile of his own, but despite how languid he seemed, there was a flame in his eyes and heat in his voice already too. “Maybe we’ll even make it to the bed tonight.” 

Lipton studied that growing warmth, the very same one he had been so sure about all those months ago, in the dark while sitting in a jeep. Lying there on the floor in Speirs’ arms had a sense of victorious finality to it, like it had supposed to happen a long time ago and only now they had managed.

It had been a trying time, but now every second felt precious and Lipton let his eyes linger on Speirs however long he desired and gently pushed his knee between his thighs to get just that much closer.

Speirs allowed it with an indulgent sigh and brushed a strand of Lipton’s hair from his forehead.

“Can I stay the night?” Lipton asked.

“Bold of you to assume I would even let you go,” Speirs replied. 

Lipton laughed. He wrapped his arms around Speirs’ neck, ran his fingers through his hair and leaned in to chastely kiss him on his cheek. He couldn’t stop smiling and it wasn’t just the lovemaking that had taken him so high, it was the deep satisfaction of having Speirs here in his arms, the evidence of his loving probably blooming on his neck already, and basking in his warmth.

He must have looked incredibly gratified with himself, because Speirs gave a sigh and a roll of his eyes that didn’t really convey any kind of displeasure. “Fine, you win,” he said.

Lipton raised his brows in a question and his smile gained a hopeful spark. He threaded his fingers together behind Speirs’ neck. “Does that mean I get to stay?” he asked, and then a flurry of other questions came to mind. Somehow being naked with someone meant he wasn’t afraid or shy about asking them. “Do I get to come to you again? Are we going to do this again? Can I call you my – “ 

Speirs interrupted him with a kiss. When he pulled back, he had a sweet smile on his lips, and it calmed Lipton too. “Oh Carwood. I’m already yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love! <3


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